


Forget Me Not, For I Have Part II

by Nym_Blacktyde



Series: Finding a Sense of Self [2]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Bisexual Character, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Grief, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pansexual Character, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Reunion, canon AU, reunion au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-10
Updated: 2019-02-10
Packaged: 2019-10-25 09:33:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17722664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nym_Blacktyde/pseuds/Nym_Blacktyde
Summary: If we are in a constant state of change, when next we meet, are we not but strangers with shared memories no longer our own?





	Forget Me Not, For I Have Part II

**Author's Note:**

> *Waves*  
> I've stopped and started and deleted so many chunks of text trying to work out the next part of this story. Hope you like what I decided on so far, forgive me for any typos! READ PART ONE FIRST!

“Have you been alive, all this time?”

The words were stones in his gut, cold and heavy. Yet with their weight gone, Arthur found the hollowness in his chest even less welcome.

_“Have you finally returned?”_

His friend, a boy who had--once upon a time--followed him into manhood, sat before him as far from youth as a living person could get. His gnarled hands clasping a mug of now cold tea, and his long silver tresses veiling his lowered head, the achingly familiar eyes vacant as he took in the dusty wood floor of the shoppe.

After they had spent time simply clinging to each other as time stood still and the maelstrom of emotions engulfed them both, Jason--Arthur only to the spindly old man clinging to his lapels--cajoled his friend into releasing his magic, and helped him into the store. Once inside, Merlin gestured to the back of the of the building, where a kettle and stove awaited Arthur’s faintly trembling hands. As he shuffled around and silently rooted out some tea, regularly glancing to the old man now caved in upon himself in a rickety chair, Merlin seemed to fall into a daze.

Arthur shook himself, and stepped forward to retrieve the mug from his friend’s failing grasp. A murmur of his name finally stirred him into speech.

“Afraid so. Waiting for a certain clotpole to finally get around to popping up again. You are extremely late, just so you know.”

Arthur could almost hear his friend’s voice, bright and clear and full of jest; see his boyish smirk and crescent eyes that would normally accompany the reprimand. However, the words came from this spindly old man before him instead, toneless as he stared off into space. Arthur felt bereft. The most precious gift he could have received in his search for traces of his past life was also tearing him apart with the realization of how his friend had come to return to him.  _He never left._

Arthur gnawed on one particular question, that he did and didn’t want the answer to. He feared the answer as much for his own reaction as he did for that of the specter sprawled in front of him.

“So you knew I’d be….reborn, one day?”

A flinch flickered like the beat of a moth’s wings across Merlin’s face.

“No...Not really. When the druids and...when they spoke of you as the Once and Future King I didn't know what they truly meant until you lay dead in my arms. I was so sure it couldn't be the end, you were long cold before I was made to realize the truth....and my failure." He paused for a breath Arthur could hear rattle in his sunken chest. "It was just a bit of druid prophecy and the infuriatingly vague bandering of someone I had thought a friend," Something came to life in Merlin's gaze for a moment, but it was gone before he could name it. "but I couldn’t stand the thought of a world where I would not stand at your side again. So I endured, chose to believe you would return in order to hide from my guilt and to retain my sanity.” His words were bitter, but again his tone was absent, as if he were talking in his sleep. Yet the waking world was cruel and tangible to Arthur as the old man with his friend’s deadened voice and eyes shifted in his chair and spoke again.

“Got a bit fed up waiting, a few times. Unfortunately for me, trying to follow you into the afterlife just left me in varying states of mortal injury, without the relief of actually dying.” The cold, yawning pit those words unlocked left Arthur numb, and mechanically he latched onto the least painful revelation in that statement, the only one he could bear to acknowledge.

"You _can’t_ die?”

A knobby shoulder lifted in the barest excuse for a shrug.

"Just couldn’t find the right sword to fall on, so to speak. Once I realized the extent of my…. _vitality,_ the years blurred together, and life became just a fluctuating state of existence. When I first lost hope you'd ever return, I went back to the lake, to retrieve your sword. That sword was one of a handful of objects left to the earth that could allow me to take my leave from it. But Freya would not give me what I asked. In fact, she was so angry with me she did not speak to me for 50 years. Not that my visits were frequent. I became a bit of a hermit. My search through the years for an alternative was unsuccessful. I am somewhat convinced Freya got word out of what I was planning, and factions of the Old Religion were either hiding or destroying them before I could seek them out. Even in our time, there were precious few things that could kill a creature of magic, but now? My only chance is to this day hoarded away by a stingy woman in a lake.”

Arthur ached as he gazed upon his friend. A boy who was the most profoundly kind and selfless person he had ever met, lost somewhere in this husk of a body, idly speaking of his attempts to cast off his own life. Immortality seemed the cruelest punishment to endure alone, and no one deserved it less than him.

“Merlin…..” Arthur found himself crouching down by his friend's side, reaching out a hand to softly grip at the base of his neck. He barely resisted the urge to startle at the physical confirmation of the fragility of this person before him. Beneath the surprisingly soft and silky white tresses of his long mane were not but dry, papery skin and knobby bone.

There was so much Arthur still didn’t know, didn't understand. There was so much pain. Yet all he could see, feel, and think to say at that moment was:

“I’m sorry I’m late, old friend.” Merlin finally stirred, and slowly turned his head to face him. A pale, spotted hand reached up to grab hold of his arm. With a soft smile and sparkling eyes, Arthur saw, for a moment, _his_ manservant looking back at him.

“Better late than never, Sire.”


End file.
